Aaron sighed, continuing to walk. “I would give anything for Shauna to be here with me,” he said quietly.
“I know that you scarified everything for the rest of us to live,” she cried. “Aaron, don't think I don't know that every moment of my life. However, does that mean I have to create a love I no longer have? Am I to be on stage even when I am off?”
“No,” he said softly. “You are free to choose what you like, Lola, and I will support you. I just wish you happiness.”
She said nothing to that, trying to keep the tears out of her eyes and stop her heart from breaking. “If you ever want to stop being a pirate and grace the stage, Lord Bamber,” she said at last. “I'm sure we'd be glad to be dazzled for you.”
Aaron smiled at that as they reached Enola's tent. “Perhaps one day, Miss Lola,” he replied.
“Hello,” Enola said when she saw Lola, interrupting them. Then her eyes widened as she realized why Lola was there “Oh my, the gifts. What are we going to do with them? We are marching, so we can't carry much.”
“Perhaps take what is useful to you?” Lola said. “And I can donate the rest?”
“That would be...preferable,” Enola said. “Let me just find Patrick.”
“Patrick,” Lola said to Aaron, as Enola scuttled off. “I see they are getting on well.”
“If one love story comes of all of this,” Aaron replied. “I think it might be theirs. But war has a way of changing everything in the blink of an eye.”
“Don't I know it,” she replied sadly.
Enola wasn't quite sure how she was supposed to ask Patrick about wedding gifts for their fake wedding. She knew that he probably wouldn't care, or that they might cause him pain after his first marriage, and that she could do what she liked with them. Nevertheless, to her surprise, he smiled, taking a moment out of his orders to walk over with her.
“There might be something useful,” he said.
“I doubt it. Cutlery and the like,” she replied. “Lady Bamber was very generous. I told her not to and reminded her that this was a marriage of convenience, but she...didn't care?”
“She might be offended if we sell them though,” Patrick replied, looking into Lola's carriage.
The actress wandered over, trying to keep a smile on her face. “Should I just keep them with me, then?” she said. “I'm going to be in the same theatre for a while, and it's not like you are going too far. From what I know, you loop back after gaining the Native forces to attack the ridge. Is that right?”
Patrick raised an eyebrow. “You are partial to many of our plans, but yes,” he replied and she rolled her eyes.
“I've always known the plans. Aaron and I are the same person; it doesn't count.”
“I'm not sure Captain Bamber should be leaking sensitive information,” Patrick replied “But then...he is like that.”
“Hush,” Enola sensed a fight brewing. She knew that her new husband didn't like Bamber's sparkling attitude and attempt to smile at every turn. She knew that Patrick thought Bamber was too guarded; too fake in every interaction. Regardless, he needed to be professional and certainly not pick a fight with an actress. “What are we to do about these gifts?”
“Keep them,” Patrick said to Lola. “Perhaps one day we can collect and make use of them.”
The words caught Enola off guard. He may have meant nothing by it, but it sounded as if Patrick had a future planned for them. She hadn't considered that was really an option. She assumed that they would dissolve the marriage as soon as the task was done, somehow, no matter how they came to feel about each other.
“Enola?” Lola asked.
“That's...fine,” Enola said, trying not to sound stunned. “I've taken you away from your work, Patrick. Please, continue.”
He gave her a nod and wandered back. Lola nudged Enola. “So it seems it wasn't as terrible as you fear.”
“Don't be silly,” Enola said as she watched him go. “We're being cordial to each other, of course.”
“But last night?”
“Nothing happened last night,” Enola answered, in shock. “You are so...”
“I'm an actress before a countess, but a married woman nevertheless,” Lola smiled. “I'm well aware of the ways of the world. And I would have thought any man, marriage of convenience or not, would have...”
“Stop!” Enola cried, turning bright red and covering her face. Lola smirked.
“Alright, alright,” she said. “Anyways, I should return to the theatre so...best of luck. I'm sure I will see you again.”
“You will,” Enola answered. “I am certain of it.”
“In that case,” Lola leaned in and gave her a tight hug. “For luck then.”
“For luck,” Enola answered as Lola pulled back.
“I'll just...go say goodbye to the others.”
“Will you say goodbye to your husband as well?” Enola asked and Lola cringed.
“Why does everyone keep asking me that?” she said. “I might wave at him from across the field if he happens to go by.”
“For luck,” Enola replied and Lola felt a pang of guilt as she crossed the camp to find Annabelle and James.
She had said goodbye to her friends so many times before that it didn't hit her hard. She was used to going on tour; to sending her friends off to war. She envied Annabelle being able to go with them, and thought of the days that she and Wesley had traveled together; happy with a few belongings, a carriage and each other.
She did see him across the field, and raised her hand to waive to him. For a moment, he looked like he considered not coming over. However, at the last moment, his feet moved and she found herself just inches from him.
“I was thinking,” he said to her without a greeting. “Whether you would consider filing for divorce? It's easier for you to do so than I.”
Her jaw dropped. “That is how you wish to march off to war?”
He let out a long breath. “What difference would it make, Lola? We're masquerading in a sham institution more than the wedding we just intended.”
She looked at the ground. “Is that what you want? I will be shamed.”
“You're an actress,” he said, and she jerked in defense. “I just meant that if you can survive society's shame of a woman on stage, you can manage being a divorcee too. What difference would it make, though, tell me?”
She felt rage, her fist clenched. “If that's what you want,” she answered. “I can manage that while you're away. You'll probably see me again; I'm not going to give up my friendships because you and I didn't work out.”
“I'm not asking you to,” he answered and swallowed, looking away.
She took a step closer to him and then cried out in alarm. “Are you drunk?”
“Does it matter?” he answered. “I know what I'm thinking.”
“Oh Lord, I'm not doing this when you're not in your right mind,” she said and threw up her hands. “File the papers when you can see straight. I'll sign them.”
With that, she turned on her heel, storming off.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
MARCHING OUT
MARCHING OUT
Enola fell into step beside Patrick she walked. She hadn't realized quite how many people they had accumulated until they began marching. It wasn't a real march, of course, because no one was in sync with each other. The Army and Patrick's sharpshooters could keep some kind of cadence. Jacob was in the middle of the column, trying to get them to stay in formation, which Enola always found amusing. The men would keep time for awhile, then they would fall out of step, and he would try all over again.
The Navy had been trained in formation, but mostly, they were static on the ship, so staying together and in time was difficult for them. The pirates didn't seem to care, moving about the lineup, walking wherever they liked and talking to whoever they liked. The families and supply wagons were at the back, and in total, it took ten minutes for the parade to pass a signal spot. It was a sight to be seen, and she wasn't sure that
it was an impressive one.
“There are a few things you should know,” she said. “When we reach my people. Perhaps, if you'd like to learn, I can tell you now?”
“Tell away,” he said, strolling beside her. “I've got nothing but time.”
She smiled. “They will be kind, but cool,” she replied. “They are always welcoming; it is part of our nature. They will offer food and drink, and it will be rude to not accept. But when it comes to official business, we will be taken to the tent of my father, much as we would be taken to your officer's tent. There, he will ask for the truth; that we are married. My cousin witnessed it, there will be no question. The decision to help the British will then be accepted, but there will likely be some prayers around the fire, smoke to guide our way before they officially say yes.”
“I see,” he said. “And I am just to stay quiet?”
“No, he will talk to you,” Enola said. “Ask you what your plans are for our future.”
Holde smiled at that. “You think it's so different,” he said. “You think that we are two people, but we are one. Any British family would do the same for the husband of their daughter.”
“They will also all bow to you, as my cousin did,” she reminded him and he quirked an eyebrow.
“That's different,” he answered. “I don't want to be bowed to.”
“It's tradition,” she said. “It would be rude not to.”
“Mm,” he sidestepped and stumbled slightly over a rock. His hand knocked against hers, and to her surprise, he took it rather than pulling away. His hands were large, engulfing her long fingers, and she felt his warmth, his strength. She did not pull away either, risking the urge to lay her head against his shoulder. It felt comfortable and she did not want the moment to end.
Jacob turned back at some point, catching her in that position. He only raised an eyebrow, to which Enola raised an eyebrow back. Whatever he thought of their affection, he was far too busy to say anything about it. He wanted nothing but her happiness, she knew.
There were worse people she could be married to in order to save lives and potentially end the war.
In the end, they came upon signs of her tribe on the third day, in the afternoon. She recognized the fur traps; the markings on the trees.
“Here,” she said, to Patrick, pointing it out as they went by. “Do you see?”
“No?” he answered, and she smiled, taking a step closer and pointing out the red berry stain in the markings. “Oh. I would have thought that was just...there.”
“Unlikely,” she replied. “It's to indicate what areas of the forest they have already worked; and which areas they still need to work, for trapping.”
“Ah, well, food is important,” he answered.
“It's more than food,” she replied. “We don't waste a single bit of the animal. It would be rude, after it sacrificed its life for us. We eat the meat, use the bones for tools, the fur for clothing and blankets. Everything is used, so that the animal did not give its life in vain.”
“Huh,” he said, looking at her. “That's a novel approach. And seems much better than what we do.”
“I've seen how the British eat meat,” she replied. “But I do not judge the way other cultures work. It's not our way. Although Jacob has gotten better, at least using the fur to stay warm during the winter.”
“This country does get cold,” Holde answered. “I thought all the rain in England was the worst thing one could experience; wet and never dry, chilled to the bone. But the snow here in the winter, it will kill you if you are not careful.”
Enola smiled. “Snow is just part of Nature's cycle of life. It's a time for the Earth to rest and be renewed.”
“That's lovely,” he admitted. “And a much better way of thinking about it than just to curse it.”
She shrugged. “I suppose if we didn't think about a good way to look at it, we would be miserable six months out of the year.”
“I was here for three months before I started to see spring,” Holde replied. “Are you telling me winter lasts longer?”
“You missed part of it,” she said. “I will show you the joys of snow when it comes.”
This time, it was she who had accidentally spoken about their future. Their eyes met, and she froze, their faces inches apart. They probably would have shared a kiss, unexpected but in the moment, when a voice suddenly called out.
“Enola.”
She knew the voice, especially that accent.
She turned around to find Ciel, her sister, standing there. She had a baby on her hip that Enola knew must be hers, based solely on the eyes. She was plumper than she used to be, perhaps expecting another child. Standing in bison skin clothing, paint on her face, she must have looked exotic and strange to the shocked men who nearly ran into each other.
“Halt!” Jacob cried, trying to get the parade to realize that they had finally reached their destination. Marching could be hypnotic and those who fell under the spell could march until they were dead; their feet worn through. “Stop! Stop! Pay attention!”
Ciel appeared to have heard none of it, watching her sister. Enola felt Jacob appear at her side and saw recognition flash in Ciel's eyes. She remembered Jacob and wasn't screaming about terrible British white men, so that was a start.
“Ciel,” Enola said, choosing to speak in English. Her sister was smart, she knew English. Whether or not she was going to pretend she didn't was a different matter. Ciel could be difficult if she wanted to be. “We have come to see Father.”
Ciel chose to know English today, tilting her chin high. “White men will not approach the chief.”
“Under normal cases, yes,” Enola replied, and touched Patrick's shoulder. Her golden wedding ring flashed in the sunlight. “But we are all one people now.”
Ciel froze, her eyes wide as she processed what Enola was telling her. “You are one?” she asked.
“I am,” Enola replied. “We are.”
“When?” Ciel asked, and Enola wondered if she would become suspicious if she learned it was just a few days ago.
“We are married,” she repeated. “Do you understand, Ciel? Where is Father?”
Ciel snapped at her in Michif and even Jacob's eyebrows rose.
“Ciel!” Jacob said in surprise. Enola had to smile.
“You understood that, did you?”
“It would be impossible not to,” Jacob replied. “Do I still have the right to enter, Ciel? We also grew up together.”
“You, yes,” Ciel said. “Enola, yes.”
“My husband,” Enola locked eyes with her sister. “We are one.”
Ciel only nodded, indicating they should follow.
“The rest of you should stay,” Enola turned to Commander Harper, who nodded.
“Stand down,” Harper said. “Meal break. Come on, men, stand down.”
“Are you alright?” Enola asked Holde as they walked. She noticed that he had turned a bit pale. He tried to smile.
“I didn't actually expect to be nervous,” he replied. “I hope I don't embarrass you.”
“Oh,” Enola said in surprise “Don't worry. Any harshness that they exhibit toward you is just...surprise. I was always anti-marriage.”
“Always good to know,” Holde said. “I've seen battle horrors...but somehow, meeting your father terrifies me most of all.”
She laughed, gripping his hand as they walked. With Jacob on her other side, she felt oddly happy and safe. She had expected to feel terrible about returning and doing this, but it was a rush of happiness, of familiarity and loving memories.
As they got closer to the camp, there were others who turned in shock. Many had not seen Enola in years, and they hadn't expected her ever to walk back in, yet alone married to a white man.
She saw her father before he turned. Standing by the fire, he looked like he might have expected them. He was dressed in his official headdress, with war paint on even. His dark skin reflected the sun, and when he turned to look at her, his ey
es were hard. She gasped, freezing on the spot.
He seemed to be fighting the softening of his eyes when he saw her, his shoulders dropping. As much as he wanted to be angry with his daughter for up and leaving them, for choosing the British ways, he could not.
Enola could see him move to embrace her; move to forgive her. Then he confirmed the golden wedding ring on her hand, and remembered what she had done.
“So it's true,” he said, in broken English. To Enola's surprise, he turned to Jacob. “I expected better care. Your promise is broken.”
“What promise?” Enola turned to Jacob in shock. Jacob sighed.
“Before we left...I did promise I would look out for you, take care of you.”
“That was not yours to promise,” she said in annoyance. “I can take care of myself.”
“Yes, I'm well aware,” Jacob answered, before turning back to her father. “She...” and then he shrugged. It wasn't that he had forgotten his Michif. It seemed that he had forgotten all the words he wanted to say at that moment to describe the powerhouse that was Enola.
“What is it you return to ask?” her father asked. Enola had been dreading this moment, and she wished she didn't have to do it in front of everybody. She had a feeling that her father already knew what was happening, but he wished her to speak it in front of the whole tribe. He wished her to look in their faces as she asked, knowing exactly what lives she was putting at risk.
“The British can win the war with our help,” Enola said. “The Americans will retreat with our numbers and we will at last be at peace again. I cannot remember peace. The British man and I are one.”
Her father turned and stalked off without an answer, stunning her. Enola glanced at Patrick, who quirked an eyebrow.
“Does he normally do that?”
“No,” Enola replied. “That is certainly not his normal way.”
“This is going to take some convincing,” Jacob said, on her other side. “Should we follow him?”
“Unarmed?” Enola tried to joke. Nevertheless, even as she said it, she guarded her heart.
How To Love A Fake Prince Page 12
